


Demon Papa and the Heat Sex

by KassieProphet



Series: Ghost Prompts [30]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C.
Genre: Biting, F/M, Hand Jobs, Heat Sex, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of blow jobs, Multiple Orgasms, Sex Toys, Vaginal Sex, demon!papa iii
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassieProphet/pseuds/KassieProphet
Summary: Tumblr prompts:How would a demon!Papa III be in heat with his mate that is a rather shy, human female s/o?
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Ghost Prompts [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536134
Comments: 82
Kudos: 54





	Demon Papa and the Heat Sex

It is not something unknown to the two of you. Papa III is a demon, and demons have heat cycles. Being an older man, Papa III’s cycles are a bit more regular …but for demon he’s still considered young, so his ruts still pack a pretty potent punch. Before giving in to his feelings for you, how you would receive him during his cycle almost had him giving up—an unmated demon going through a heat with a partner is uncomfortable; one going through a cycle without a mate is _painful_. How could he ask that of you, knowing your disposition? Knowing if you refused to sate him, he’d have to take a temporary lover?

Luckily you pushed him to confide his concerns in you, and the two of you have had many subsequent conversations about expectations, consent, and safety.

* * *

“I will be very, ah— _insistent_ , little one. Aggressive. Like a beast.”

“But not a mindless beast.”

“ _Sí._ Not mindless—merely … distracted.”

* * *

“Will you hurt me?”

“Perhaps a little, _mia cara_. Some biting, a few scratches. But not in the way you mean, I am thinking.”

* * *

“And if you can’t take it, _amore_?”

“I can.”

“If you _can’t_.”

“Will I be in danger if I try to leave?”

“I may beg and plead, but I won’t bar you. But I _would_ need a proxy, _cara_. The damage to myself I would do …”

“So I will take it, now hush.”

* * *

The thing about Papa III’s heat is that it’s not an exact science (when Papa III tried to _explain_ to you it’s a ballpark of days and not a guarantee, you had to level him with a look—“I know, my love. I get a period every month.”). So while you both know the week, the day and the hour are still unknown factors.

Papa III’s mini fridge is stocked up with coconut water, and he has a whole crate full of protein and granola bars. The kitchen staff is on call for any other needs (like the meat freezer full of choice-cut steak). You have gotten permission for heat leave from your Abbey duties.

It’s midmorning when one of Papa III’s Ghouls comes to fetch you. It’s not a surprise, but it is two days earlier than the date circled on the calendar. You don’t bother changing or performing your morning toilet—you nod in understanding to the Ghoul, and you grab your prepped duffel bag.

When you enter Papa’s quarters, it’s the smell that hits you first: it’s not an unpleasant smell, but it’s _strong_ —a musky, salty aroma that still manages to smell like Papa’s own spicy-flower scent. The Ghoul ushers you to Papa III’s bedchamber; when he opens the door, the smell hits you like a slap to the face full force, and you stagger back as if physically hit.

Papa explained that you might be affected by his scent; while humans don’t experience heat and scent the way demons do, he warned that you might experience it as the feeling you get when getting a whiff of him from a shirt—but on steroids. It’s a very pleasant loverboyfriend-type smell, and without your permission, your mouth fills with saliva.

You’re taken out of your haze a bit when you see Papa III curled in the fetal position, panting, around a pillow. He’s naked—sheets in a tangle around his ankles—and his skin is slick with sweat; his face has no trace of paint on it. You cry out at his distress, and make to go for him—when you’re stopped by a warning growl.

Distracted by Papa’s smell and appearance, you hadn’t noticed that the Ghoul with you had been affected too. Its fangs are bared and glistening, its eyes are glowing yellow beneath its mask, and its tail is stuttering back and forth. You freeze, trying to remember the orientation video on feral Ghouls. It growls again low in its throat before hissing at you and arching its back in an obvious challenge. While the orientation video warned never to get between a Ghoul in heat and its mate, it DID NOT cover what to do when the mate was yours. 

The Ghoul snaps its jaws at you and flashes its claws. You know you’re not supposed to even think about fear, but you’re on a hair trigger—you can’t run, you can’t leave Papa, and you can’t fight this Ghoul. Your eyes cast about the bedchambers for anything that could be a weapon (surely he would understand if you used that frankly intimidating-looking huge dildo as a bludgeon, right?), but you and the Ghoul are both suddenly caught off guard by a _clap_ and a low, throaty growl.

The both of you snap your heads toward Papa III, who is on his knees—chest heaving and glistening—fists clenched and eyes glowing red.

“ _Ghoul_ ,” rumbles Papa in a voice that seems to come from within him and everywhere else all at once. The Ghouls whines. “ _Ghoul, you are not welcome. Leave us_.” The Ghouls eyes you again and seems to vibrate. “ **Now** _!_ ” bellows Papa, and—while it does let out a sad keen—the Ghoul hastily retreats out of Papa III’s bedchambers and his suite.

Papa crumples as soon as he hears the door slam, and you go to run toward him, but he manages to gasp out, “The door, _mia amore_! Lock the door, _per favore_!”

You hesitate only for a moment before dropping your duffle and alighting to the door of his quarters. You turn the lock, then you sprint back to his bedchamber, making sure to latch _that_ door behind you as well.

Papa III is once again curled in on himself and trembling. You’re quick to scramble into the bed—his nudity is a lesser concern to you than his obvious wretchedness. You take his head in your hands and guide it to your neck—something he advised you would comfort him. His nose snuffles around until it finds the right spot and then presses into you. He takes a couple of deep inhales before his arms come around you and pull you into him, squashing the pillow that is trapped in between you two.

“I am sorry, _amore_. _Mi dispiace_. It came on so fast.”

You stroke his head. “ _Shh_. It’s ok, love. What do you need?”

When the two of you had talked, Papa III had outlined how his rut usually went down: a sudden onset of fatigue followed by a mild fever; an increase in body temperature coupled with the inklings of arousal—all of these irritating, but manageable symptoms. These harbingers were supposed to alert Papa of the more intense waves to come—the spark of arousal turning into a burning itch needing to be scratched; the spike in body temperature; the cramping. But if Papa III’s current state is any indicator, he’s sailed through all his pre-heat symptoms and is now firmly in Stage 2.

Papa whines and you can feel him restrain himself from rutting into you.

“Please, _cara_ … _please_. I need—”

Despite all the talks Papa III and you had and all the pep talks you gave yourself in the mirror, you’re suddenly hit with a spike of anxiety. The moment is _here_. Papa is going to fuck the shit out of you _now_. He must sense your trepidation—or maybe the sudden tenseness in your body—because he squirms away from you and literally puts you at arm’s length. Even as he’s rutting into the bed he’s apologizing to you.

“Forgive me, _amore_.”

Your heart breaks a little, and you’re quick to pull him back into you. You knew this was coming, and all you want is to ease your Papa through his ordeal.

“It’s ok, Papa. What do you need?” you ask again.

He presses plaintive kisses to your collarbone.

“Just you, _mia amore_. Just you.”

“Well. You have me.”

While you obviously intended to follow through on your assertion, you weren’t quite expecting Papa to give a snarl and roll on top of you immediately. He takes to your nightdress with his hands and teeth, tearing it down the middle to expose your nudity beneath. You give a surprised yelp, but Papa doesn’t even pause in his ministrations as he bites at your collarbone and squirms in between your legs. His knees spread your thighs apart, and when his hard cock encounters your panties, he just reaches down and rips them away as well.

Now, your Papa is always a conscientious and considerate lover. He’s all light touches and slow care with you. He always sees to you first, and he doesn’t adhere to any 1:1 ratio in terms of orgasms—which always seems to end in your favor. But tonight he is actually a man possessed. As soon as your panties are dealt with, his cock is poking at you as he whimpers in frustration. You do your best to reach down to guide him into you while he clutches your flesh; eventually he manages to press into you all on his own, stiffening and letting out an honest-to-god howl as his cock sinks further into the tight embrace of your cunt.

His mouth latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and he sucks at the tender skin there as he begins to pound frenetically into you. Even though Papa III warned you that he’d be taking his pleasure from you, the reality of it is a little overwhelmed. 

And yet.

Also a little arousing.

Papa pins you into the bed with the weight of his body and his vehement thrusts—there’s little you can do but go along for the ride—but it’s still _him_. It’s still his currently intoxicating smell and the sounds he makes in ecstasy; it’s still the planes of his body mashing against you and the hardness of his cock inside you.

The fire of arousal heats you, even if it’s not enough at the moment to sate you. You let Papa rut into you and mewl against your skin. The two of you have been working on your comfort in vocality—but tonight there’s no problem. Your breathy grunts and high moans only serve to egg him on as he uses the velvet slick of your cunt to ease the burning of need compelling him on. The stiffness of his cock plunges into you again and again and again—and you can feel as your slick leaks out around him and down his balls.

And oh.

Oh _God_.

 _OH SWEET LUCIFER ON A GODFORSAKEN BICYCLE_.

The two of you had talked about the possibility of his knot making an appearance—something that happened to him only ever in a rut, and even then being half-human made it a rarity—but you’re still wholly unprepared when the sudden protrusion tugs at your entrance. It’s … _extremely_ stimulating, and you moan out—which only causes Papa III to speed up impossibly. You begin to wail and clutch at the sheets as his knot gets bigger, tugging and pressing at you. Some small part of you is anxious about the way you sound and how you’re acting—but the rest of you is screaming at Papa III to _Shove it the fuck in already_.

The mounting pressure suddenly pops into your cunt, and you can feel it expand. You scream out—not a breathy scream of ecstasy—but an actual throaty scream at the intensity of it all as you climax hard. His knot fills you in a way you didn’t know existed and how it presses into all the right spots has you cumming 2 more times with demi-orgasms before your head clears enough to realize Papa has broken the skin of your shoulder as you’ve milked him, and he’s now contentedly lapping at the blood seeping out of the bite.

It’ll probably hurt like a bitch later, but right now Papa III has started rolling his hips and is grinding his knot into you. Bursts of pleasure spark behind your eyes, and you suddenly notice you’re rolling your hips too.

“Ah, ah, _amore_ —so _tight_!”

You wrap your arms and legs around him, and the two of you grind at each other. The sweet pressure of his knot is inescapable—no matter which way you go, there’s stimulation, and soon you’re arching and clamping hard around him again. You hadn’t even noticed it was deflating until you feel his knot expand again, and he howls—trying to jerk into you but unable to fully thrust as he climaxes again.

“Santanas,” he gasps as he falls back down on to you. “Cease moving, little one. Unless you wish to be caught all night.”

“Ok, Papa.”

You’re definitely feeling sleepy, and you let yourself drift off as Papa applies soft kisses and gentle nips to your collarbone. When you wake, it’s because Papa is rolling off you—cock now soft. You feel the trickle of his cum leak out down your thighs as he folds a cover over you, and you wonder how uncouth it would be to use his sheets to wipe it off. Your train of thought is interrupted when you hear Papa whine as his hand hovers over your shoulder.

“I hurt you.”

“You warned me.”

He _tsks_ and attempts to leave the bed, but he’s still in the throes of his rut, so all he accomplishes is teetering on wobbly legs and swooning back onto the bed.

“Papa!” You scootch over to him to gather him up. He trembles a little, and you’re not sure if it’s from his effort or the sweat cooling on him. 

“I’m getting you supplies.”

Your hand finds your nightgown—and then you remember it’s useless; you think about winding the sheet around you—but Papa’s currently laying on the other end, and you don’t want to upend him. Finally you see his favorite slinky robe, and you decide he won’t mind if you commandeer it for the time being.

Once you’re decent, you retrieve a carton of coconut water and a protein bar. You do notice that your shoulder is beginning to throb and sting. When you look up, you see that Papa III is watching you with glazed eyes.

“My phone, _per favore_ , _amore_.”

You shift the other two items and grab the ancient rotary. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but you manage to get back onto the bed and over to Papa with all your treasures. You place the phone in between the two of you, and you let him dial as you crack open the water and peel the wrapper from the bar. As he murmurs into the receiver, you hand him bite-sized pieces of the protein bar and the carton to drink from. What you can tell from his end is that a nurse is being sent up to bandage your shoulder, but that she can’t tarry because apparently Papa triggered his Ghoul’s rut, who then went back to the Ghoul dorms and triggered a while outbreak of heat cycles, thus overwhelming the infirmary.

When he hangs up, he curls back around you, his cock already plumping to hardness once more. He ruts into your leg, and getting him to eat the last bit of bar and the rest of the coconut water is an exercise in futility, so you put them aside. Papa III squirms on top of you, his hard cock poking at you once again.

“Papa!” you gasp. “Papa, the nurse! I’ll have to let her in …”

“She has keys,” he says into your skin.

“But—” 

His dick drives home, and you gasp again.

“Need you, _cara_ ,” he keens as he begins to thrust into you again.

It goes much like the first time—Papa plunging hard and fast into you until his knot swells, locking the two of you together and setting off a feedback loop of pleasure as his swollen flesh presses into you and as you clench around him until a ceasefire is called. He bites a pillow instead of you this time, but his fingers have left crescents in the skin of your ams.

A sharp rap at the door of his bedchamber startles the both of you.

“Are you quite done, your Dark Excellency?” comes a muffled voice.

“ _Sí_ ,” calls out Papa hoarsely.

“Papa!” you squeak. “I-I’m …”

He groans.

“ _Un momento_ ,” he yells louder. Though you can tell it takes some effort, Papa rolls the two of you over so that you’re on top. He artlessly begins to pile the covers in a nest around you, and you take the hint to recinch the robe.

“Come!” he shouts.

There’s the sound of the key turning in the latch before an infirmary nurse, in her starched white habit, bustles into the room with a medical bag. You cast your eyes down as your face grows hot. 

“Sister Aggie,” says Papa III.

In a dry, deadpan tone, Sister Aggie says, “What did you do this time?”

Papa pets your thighs under the covers. You try not to clench down on his knot.

“Show her your shoulder, _amore_.”

You look up at her from under your lashes and you hesitantly peel the robe back from your shoulder, while still trying to keep yourself covered. She makes a _tetch_ noise, but otherwise remains clinical in her approach to the bite. Whatever she swabs on it stings, and you hiss, flinching. It’s enough to make Papa moan and twitch, but Sister Aggie gives him such a sharp look that he just pants and clutches at the sheets. She’s just about done applying a sticky gauze over the bite when she sees the nail marks, and she pulls the robe down further for access despite your squeak of alarm at almost being exposed.

She fixes a stern gaze on Papa III.

“Your new mate isn’t a Ghoul, Dark Excellency. If you can’t be more careful, I would medically have to suggest you do use a Ghoul proxy—Lucifer knows there are enough of them on their own cycle right now because of you.”

Papa is shaking a bit, but he manages to assure Sister Aggie that he will be gentler with you.

“I’ll be back to check on you every several hours. I’m not sure why you didn’t already put a request in for wellness checks, Dark Excellency. 

“ _Private_ ,” he pants out—and you know he means _your_ privacy.

“Not anymore.” She catches your eyes. “Has he eaten?”

“U-Uh … I-I—some coconut water and most of a protein bar. He— _ah_!”

You grunt as Papa starts to grind up into you, moaning. Sister Aggie keeps talking to you as if Papa isn’t about to cum in you again and isn’t babbling at you in Italian.

“He’s going to need a lot more sustenance after this round. I heard from Ghoul 0 that he was up most of the night before you joined him. I’ll let the kitchen know, but _you_ have to make sure he eats.”

You’re trying to pay attention, but Papa’s knot is pressing into you again as he rolls his hips, ratcheting up the throbbing in your cunt. You must’ve zoned out, because Sister Aggie is snapping her fingers in front of you.

“Sister—do you understand?”

Your cheeks burn, but you manage to nod at her. “M-make sure he eats. Got it.“

“I’m holding you to that, Sister.” 

She clicks her medical bag shut.

Papa moans and starts to twitch into you.

Despite your best efforts, the sudden, multiple pressures into you propels you over the edge.

“ _Oh god_ ,” you punch out, and you curl over as you orgasm, your eyes closing shut as your clit pulsates and you clench hard around Papa III’s knot. You feel it inflate fully again as Papa snarls then catapults up—smacking your mouth hard as he captures your lips, grunting into your mouth as he cums again.

“ _Spiacente_ , little one,” he gasps afterwards. " _Spiacente_.”

As you pet at him, you turn to apologize to Sister Aggie, but she’s already gone.

When Papa pulls free this time the mess is … a lot more to deal with. Papa basically passes out, and—on shaky legs—you make use of his showerhead to clean up. You bring out a warm washcloth to clean him up as best you can, blushing as you hesitantly wipe between his legs (you were afraid that would wake him up and set him off again, but he dozes through all of it). 

As promised, the food from the kitchen is delivered (by another Sibling—they’re apparently keeping the Ghouls away from Papa III until the heat cycles dissipate), and you bring it into the bedroom. At the smell, Papa stirs and cracks open an eye.

The meal is steak—bloody for him—rotini, and buttered beets. You wolf down all of your food and down the rest of the open coconut water. Papa eats the steak and must be babied into eating half of the other portions, plus a fresh carton of water.

He’s giving you That Look again, but you’re not quite up to being knotted again, so you give him an enthusiastic hand job, making sure to squeeze and massage his knot. When he climaxes, his cum shoots out in force and lands hot and sticky on you with every squeeze of his knot that you give. By the time he seems finished, the amount of his cum that you’re covered in is almost comical. Papa presses into you, smearing it around both your bodies as he growls at you.

“Such a waste. Every drop should be in you. It should be filling you up so that you grow fat with my child.”

Even though Papa warned you he’d probably feel compelled to talk of breeding you, you’re still a little embarrassed at his words. You’re not expecting him to scoop some up with his fingers and try to finger it back into your hole. You attempt to squirm away, but at first he’s very insistent on getting it all into your cunt; you have to draw on your reserves to sharply tell him _No_ before he stops—and even then he whimpers at you before dozing off again.

You wish the showerhead was long enough to reach into his bedroom.

* * *

It’s a very long few days. Despite Papa’s promise, he still manages to mark you up with scratches and bruises that make Sister Aggie cluck her tongue—though none bad enough for her to make good on her threat. You do your best to let him have you, but your human physical limitations are such that you just can’t handle multiple knotting in such quick succession—as amazing as they ended up being. Occasionally Papa will use your mouth, but he’s actually too afraid he might accidentally choke you with his knot that he’s more willing to let you jack him—even if that proves to be an inferior method of release.

He does have toys—the pocket vagina and tenga eggs getting the most use, and then that dildo you’d been prepared to use as a weapon (you’d been reticent to use it on him at first, but after watching him fuck himself on it, you quickly became eager to control it). He tried to convince you to use the strap-on on him, but you’re just not there yet.

Day 2 was the peak, and the hardest day—he’d been a begging mess and you’d felt you’d spent most of the day caught on his cock. On day 3 you’d noticed him slowing down, and by day 5 his knot had stopped swelling. You’d helped Papa III with his bedding and soiled towels, and the two of you had taken a very long bath full of epson salts and rosewater.

Day 6 is completely indulgent—Papa’s rut very obviously over—but he insists that recovery is absolutely a part of the heat cycle. As you lie on his chest encircled in his arms, you certainly aren’t going to contradict him.

He sighs and kisses the top of your head.

“You are still here, _mia cara_.”

You place a kiss on his pectoral. 

“I’m still here,” you agree.


End file.
